The Building, Just an Old Man
The toilet flushes when no one’s there.
The lights glow and sing.
The water fountain hums, shuts up.
The vending machine, the salesman.
A cold soda machine too, that
Does a fancy trick for some change,
And has green blinking eyes.
The steam room puffs and shower drips.
He’s a sauna, a creaking building.
The air conditioner breathes, dust settles.
The ceiling fan wobbles. The
Second finger taps.
When it rains the tin roof goes wild.
Danny P. Barbare works as a custodian at a local Y at night. He has been writing poetry off and on for 30 years. And has been published roughly 500 times in online and print journals. Some of his poetry can be googled under his name.